


At First Blush

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Canon Era, Episode: s01e08 The Last Patrol, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Medics make the worst patients, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: Babe dropped to his knees in the mud before Spina even got there. He realized about when Gene started shoving himself to a sitting position that he had no real idea of what he could do to help. Babe's hands fluttered uselessly, not wanting to touch and risk hurting Gene somehow, but pretty sure that Gene shouldn't be just sitting up after he'd cried out like that.Or, medics make the worst patients.
Relationships: Babe Heffron/Eugene Roe
Comments: 26
Kudos: 121
Collections: DDSherman Holiday Exchange for BoB 2019





	At First Blush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miss_grey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_grey/gifts).



> Beta read by Zippitgood. Y'all are my hero.

Babe was looking right at Gene when he went down. It wasn't a matter of luck, especially, but more that Babe had been looking at Gene an awful lot these last few months, maybe even longer. But since those first few days in Bastogne, Babe had made a habit of checking to see where Gene was, how he was doing, if he needed anyone to talk to.

So that Babe'd been watching what Gene was doing, rather than paying much attention to Martin trying to herd them off the train, pretty well figured. It was a pay off for effort spent.

That Babe was moving even before Gene finished falling was a pay off for training, and the fact that he elbowed McClung in the chest hard enough to knock him on his ass. Babe's brain was running back what he'd seen even as he booked it across the muddy "platform": Gene hopping down from the train, his feet going out from under him somehow, the sharp, high yelp of pain.

Babe dropped to his knees in the mud before Spina even got there. He realized about when Gene started shoving himself to a sitting position that he had no real idea of what he could do to help. Babe's hands fluttered uselessly, not wanting to touch and risk hurting Gene somehow, but pretty sure that Gene shouldn't be just sitting up after he'd cried out like that.

"Goddammit," Gene muttered, which seemed like a good sign to Babe. He pushed at the mud with his left hand and held his right arm tight to his chest. Rain ran down his face in rivulets, washing the mud in streaks, but Babe could see the pallor and pain through all that.

"You hurt bad?" he asked, stomping out the imbecile desire to ask if Gene was alright.

Gene grimaced. "Fine," he muttered. "Think I broke my damn wrist. Stupid."

Spina showed up just then, and started to assess Gene, but before that was even done a couple of infirmary orderlies showed up with a stretcher and repeated the whole thing. Babe could see spots of heat rising in Gene's cheeks as his frustration grew.

"I'm telling you guys, it's just a broken wrist," he said, glaring between Spina and the orderlies. He even caught Babe in the shrapnel of the glare, though Babe had long since rocked back on his heels to get out of the way of the rush. "I don't need all you fussing over me."

He looked like he was about to walk to the infirmary just to prove that he could, or maybe to spite the orderlies, so Babe said, "Hey, Gene, let the boys practice, will ya? They ain't had nothing to do while you and Spina were out there patching up half the battalion. They could use the work."

From the glare he got from the orderlies, that wasn't an accurate summary of how their winter had gone, but Babe didn't give a shit. His little speech had gotten a tight smile and a duck of the head out of Gene, and more importantly he shifted his ass so he was sitting on the stretcher. He stifled a cry as he moved his feet so they were lying between the handles, and Babe suspected that his wrist hadn't been all he'd gotten.

"Give you a hand?" Babe asked, and took one of the handles of the stretcher before the orderlies could say yes or no. The camp infirmary at Mourmelon was close enough to the train station that there wasn't much point calling an ambulance for one person. The orderlies took one end of the stretcher and Babe split the other with Liebgott for the two hundred yards to triage.

Gene lay on his back with his arm held tight to his chest, glaring up at the sky.

The 101st's wounded had been sent on somewhere else, and triage was nearly empty, which didn't seem to make it any faster for Gene to get booked for an x-ray. The Doc glared at Babe, presumably on grounds of loitering while muddy and cluttering up his hospital. Babe pretended not to see him.

"Don't think he's going to ask you for a second opinion, Heffron," Gene said waspishly.

Babe smiled beatifically and stayed where he was. "You never know," he said.

"I likely do," Gene countered.

"I definitely won't," the doc added. "You can go, Private." Babe opened his mouth. "In fact, I insist."

Babe sighed. "Sir," he snapped off, but lingered by Gene's stretcher, his fingertips brushing his good wrist. "I'll come back and check on you once we're squared away."

He counted it as a victory when Gene nodded slightly and didn't tell him to go to hell.

* * *

The whole company wanted to know how Gene was, and Babe spent so much time repeating that he didn't know yet that it was half an hour later, then another half hour to find his billet and listen to Martin curse up one side of it and down the other when they all worked out that someone had looted their stuff while they'd been on the line. Babe sighed and dumped his bag on an empty bunk. He hadn't had quite the same cache of loot that the Normandy vets had, but he'd been looking forward to some chocolate he'd forgotten to pack. He'd planned to share it with Gene. He wondered if Bill's stuff had made it back to him, wherever he was now, or if that was gone too. Babe would have to write.

"Chow at 1130," Martin reminded them all morosely, as if any of them might’ve forgotten Mourmelon's grinding routine. Of course, half the platoon were replacements who'd never been there.

"I'm going to go check on Doc Roe," Babe said.

But Gene wasn't in the infirmary when Babe got there.

"Looking for your buddy?" the doctor asked, but without waiting for an answer started to complain about how medics were the worst of all possible patients, and they thought that because they could slap a bandage on someone and put in a saline drip that they all thought they'd been to medical school, and thought that they could just limp off with their arm in a cast, plaster only half dry.

Babe waited impassively, thinking it'd do the camp doctor some good to try putting in a saline drip during an artillery barrage, then asked where Gene had gone.

The doctor shrugged. "Not my problem once he's out those doors, Private."

"Course not, sir," Babe said. He figured the barracks were the next best bet and trudged back through the mud the way he'd come, wishing he'd saved himself the trip.

First thing Babe saw going into second platoon's barracks was Gene sitting on the very edge of his old bunk, the lower one right by the door, pale, frowning, and with his arm plastered up and tucked against his chest. He hadn't tried to get the cast back into his jacket sleeve, and that flapped empty at his side.

Second thing Babe noticed was that he'd looked right past Major Winters in his search to find Gene. Winters was kneeling next to Gene's bunk, head bent low as he talked softly to him. A good part of the rest of the platoon milled awkwardly trying not to look like they were eavesdropping while still finding a way to slowly unpack their rucks just within earshot.

It wasn't just the usual soldiers being nosy, either. With a rush of pride, Babe knew that if Winters hinted that Gene's jump boots ought never to touch the mud again, then every man in the company would lay their jackets over the ground to wherever he wanted to go. Unfortunately, Babe had neither a bag to unpack, nor any other reason to be in first platoon's billet. He hovered in the doorway, as unobtrusive as an eclipse.

"Private Heffron," Winters said, casting him a glance.

"Sir?"

"I'm detailing you to assist Doc Roe back over to the infirmary."

"Yes, sir." That sounded like fun. Again Gene's glare took in Babe, even though this could hardly be considered his fault.

"I expect him to stay there this time," Winters added, looking at Babe not Gene.

"Yes, sir," Babe said, and Gene sighed softly.

"Sir," Gene started to protest. 

Winters stood, saying, "That will be all, troopers."

Babe stepped aside to let him walk out of second's barracks, then held his hand out to Gene. "Come on, doc. Major's orders."

"Yeah, sure," Gene muttered. He heaved himself up from his bunk, bracing his good hand on the lower lip of the one above him.

Babe frowned, not liking the way Gene still kept his cast tucked into his chest. He liked the way Gene seemed to be favoring his right leg even less. "You do something to your foot?"

Gene pulled a face, like he was admitting losing his last dollar at craps. "I twisted my ankle."

"Oh." Babe considered that. "And then you limped back here through all that mud?"

That got him one of Gene's patent pending _I didn't know you were an idiot_ looks. Babe guessed that was fair. There wasn't much else that Gene could’ve done to get to the barracks. "Look," he said, "How 'bout you put your arm over my shoulder, and we take some weight off it."

Gene gave him a dubious look, but picking his way across half the camp the first time must’ve hurt enough for even Gene to think twice about doing it again.

"It's no trouble," Babe lied. "Major's orders, anyway. Faster we get you back to the docs, the better."

Babe ended up supporting almost all of Gene's weight down the steps, and Malarkey hollered out behind him asking if he needed help. Seeing the spots of heat standing out on Gene's cheeks, Babe waved their sergeant off.

"What in Christ's name made you think this was a good idea?" Babe muttered sourly. With Gene's good arm slung over his shoulder and his body braced against Babe's every other step, the hike back to the infirmary seemed to take ten times as long as it just had on the way over. Gene's jacket kept flapping open, exposing him to the frigid rain.

"Didn't want to cause a fuss," Gene muttered. He sounded so low about the whole thing that Babe almost let it pass at that, but he couldn't resist sniping back.

"Getting the battalion commander in to see you special, and half the orderlies out hunting for you, that's no fuss at all, that's for sure."

Gene's hand tightened on Babe's collar, and he grunted in anger, but Babe couldn't tell if it was directed at him or inward towards Gene himself. "Didn't figure it'd go like this," Gene muttered. "Sorry to drag you into it, Heffron."

Babe wondered if Gene had calculated that comment to make him feel bad, or if it just came naturally. Either way, he felt like a total shit for chewing out a wounded man, and looked down and away.

They stumped across the rest of the camp in silence. Gene's body was warm against Babe's side, arm a solid weight across his shoulders. Babe was a little taller, and had to slouch a bit to lift Gene up. The whole thing felt like it was pulling him sideways and down.

By the time they got back to the infirmary, Gene's breath was coming in labored pants, and he whined a little every time he had to put even a bit of weight on his bad ankle. How the hell he'd thought he was going to manage in barracks, Babe had no idea.

"And he's back!" the head nurse muttered sardonically as she waved them into triage.

"Seems like, ma'am," Gene muttered.

"Just take him right on through, Private," the nurse said to Babe, gesturing to the main non-contagion ward. "Any bed's fine."

"I can make it from here," Gene muttered too low for anyone but Babe to hear. Babe could feel the puff of Gene's breath on his ear and his own face heating in response.

"Nah," he said cheerfully. "The Major said to make sure you got where you was going." He limped Gene through to the nearly-empty ward, and would’ve settled him on one of the bunks, except Gene went stiff and when Babe looked at him, his mouth was fixed in a tight line. "What's the matter now?"

"I'm all muddy," Gene muttered, and Babe realised he was right. They'd all been all muddy for so long, he'd stopped noticing, but Gene's faceplant earlier meant he was that much worse than the rest of them. Babe could see why he didn't want to get into fresh white sheets like that.

"Yeah, all right," Babe said.

Gene was already pulling out of their half embrace, trying to balance on his good foot, brace against Babe's shoulder, and shrug out of his jacket at the same time. He looked a bit like a flamingo on ice.

"Oh, for Christ's _sake_ ," Babe muttered, as the ward nurse descended. "Hold still for a second, will ya? Look, the nurse'll help."

"I can do it," Gene snapped, then, when the nurse was in earshot. "It's okay, Ma'am. Heffron can help me."

"That what ya call helping?" the nurse asked. She had a Queens accent you could cut with a knife, if it didn't cut you first, and amused hazel eyes. Babe didn't remember her from last time they'd been in quarters.

"He ain't let me help him yet," Babe replied defensively. He twisted and dumped Gene onto one of the spindly wooden visitor's chairs, which gave out such a screech that for a moment Babe's heart leaped into his mouth as he feared Gene would keep going all the way to the floor. At least then pinning and stripping him would be easier.

The chair held. Just.

The nurse stood with her hands on her hips, lieutenant's bar flashing silver in the electric light. "Ya gonna help him now? Or ya want me ta do it?"

Babe looked at Gene, who shook his head slightly, then back at the nurse. "I got it, ma'am," he said.

"Well, if ya need reinforcements, just holler," she said and stomped back towards her office.

"You got something against nurses all of a sudden?" Babe asked. He crouched in front of Gene and pulled his jacket off. He'd put his suspenders on over his t-shirt, which was muddy now too. Babe pushed them off.

"I got it," Gene said, ignoring Babe's question. "You don't have to help, Edward. It was just something I said, to..."

"To make her go away," Babe finished. He ignored Gene's protests and grabbed a handful of the back of his t-shirt, pulling it up over the back of his neck. Once the collar was clear, it was an easy thing to get Gene's good arm out, then work the whole thing over the damp plaster cast. "You really shouda let this set before you made a break for it," Babe commented, poking at the smudged white surface.

"Didn't want to let them take my ODs," Gene said, and had enough of a sense of irony left to give Babe a half grin as he added, "Guess that didn't get me very far, huh?"

The laces of Gene's jump boots were knotted with frozen mud, and Babe had to blow on his hands then cup them over the frigid string before he could even start picking at them. "You tell them about your ankle?"

"Didn't seem that bad," Gene muttered, sounding almost sulky.

"Didn't seem!" Babe started, then gave up, pinching his lips together as he yanked at Gene's bootlaces. "Goddamnit, Gene, if the doc wasn't right. Medics do make the worst patients."

Gene didn't say a word as Babe pulled his right boot off, but when he took hold of the left one, he whimpered real high, and the sound made Babe's heart go cold. He'd heard it from so many men over the last few months: the small surrender in the face of pain they could no longer repress. He'd never thought he'd hear it from Gene. Medics were supposed to be safe.

"Hey, easy," Babe said, trying to remember how Gene talked when he was doing his whole medic thing. Babe felt, and not for the first time, deeply glad no higher up had decided to pin that red cross to _his_ arm.

"Just havta yank it off," Gene said through gritted teeth.

Babe was pretty sure that wasn't medically advisable. Probably, he should be cutting the boot, but the horror of waste that over two months on the line engendered made him shy away from the idea. Gene's boots were still good. Babe took the heel of the boot in both hands, and pulled down nice and steady while Gene pulled his leg up. The boot came off like a shot , tumbling Babe back onto his ass so that he ended up clutching the damn thing to his chest. Now he was covered in mud, too, not that he hadn't been already, especially after helping Gene limp across the camp.

Gene solved Babe's next quandary by undoing his own belt and pushing his trousers down off his hips before Babe even got back on his knees in front of him.

On his knees in front of a mostly naked man was not an entirely unknown position for Babe, but it was his first time in front of another paratrooper. He had to blink for a second to put events back the way they were supposed to be, not the way his wet dreams told him they ought to go. He took the trousers and helped Gene get them over his bad ankle without jostling it too hard.

Finally, Gene was sitting in the chair in just his skivvies. His face and hands were still covered with mud, but he was otherwise more or less fit to be put in a clean hospital bed. Babe figured these sheets had been boiled clean after having worse things than mud on them.

Funny how someone could live in the blood and mud and grime of a foxhole for almost two months, and still be as meticulous as a cat when it came to his personal appearance, but that was something Babe had always noticed about Gene. He didn't do it ostentatiously to make a point, like Winters did, or obsessively, like Perconte, but Gene was always as clean and neat as he could be. Babe would say it was something they taught in medic school, but he'd never seen Spina look like this.

Gene hefted himself from the chair to the bed and pulled his legs in and the covers up to his chin. He left the arm with the cast on it outside of the blankets, but still had a little frown of pain on his face. Babe thought the sheets, tucked into tight army corners like they were, were probably pulling down on his foot too hard. He leaned over and yanked the sheet free from where it was tucked under the end of the cot.

"Well," Gene said. He had his head lifted off the pillow and was watching Babe seriously. "You delivered me neat as a package, just like Major Winters said."

"Guess so," Babe agreed. He was still kneeling at the side of Gene's cot, and now it felt awkward and strange. He'd helped his buddy get to the hospital, even helped undress him, when really the nurse ought to have done that, and now he had no real reason to stick around. He stood, looking down at Gene's pale skin against even paler sheets. It all made the mud on his face and the dark shock of his hair stand out stronger, like the bark of a tree against fresh snow, or blood.

"Martin will be looking for you," Gene said, which was true, though they both knew that Babe could deflect even Martin's wrath by saying he'd been under the Major's orders, or even just saying he'd been helping Roe. Not even a Toccoa man was really going to care if a veteran of two campaigns skived off a bit when they were in quarters. Babe wasn't sure when he'd started thinking of himself as an old hand. It hadn't been the replacements after Holland that had done it, but something in the faces of the kids who'd joined them in Haguenau made Babe feel a thousand years old.

Babe was staring, not down a Gene, but through him to the pillow. He shook his head slightly, pulling free, and said, "Martin, right. Well, I'll see you around, Doc. Bring you something."

"Sure," Gene said, but didn't sound that hot on the idea. He probably just wanted to be left to sleep in peace for the next two weeks, as a start.

Babe nodded, and shifted his weight back to his heels, made to jam his hands in his pockets before he realized they were covered in mud from Gene's boots, and stood at ease instead. He felt as though he were glued to Gene's bedside, unable to pull away. Each moment he didn't think of something smart to say, some joking farewell to cut the tension, only stuck him more firmly where he stood. Gene didn't seem any better off, looking up at Babe with those wide grey eyes, his lips slightly parted. Lines of pain still ran across his forehead, and Babe clenched his hands together to keep from reaching down and getting Gene even muddier as he tried to stroke them away.

He needed to say something, say something and go. That's what Babe needed to do. Every word Babe had ever learned sucked out of his mind and then came back in a jumble, like they'd been pulled by the tide. What came out of his lips was, "Are you going to be okay?" Which wasn't quite the stupidest question Babe could've asked, but it was up there.

Gene's mouth twitched, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to grimace or smile. "I'll be fine, Heffron."

"Right. That's good. Okay. I'll see you later." Babe turned on his heel like he was on parade and marched out of the ward without looking back. He didn't hear Gene laughing behind him, but maybe that was just because Babe was too busy calling himself an idiot.

* * *

Babe meant to check in on Gene, but it turned out that Martin _did_ care if Babe was skiving off, and Lieutenant Foley did too, and proving that he really didn't want to be on kitchen patrol kept Babe busy until after dinner.

The nurses weren't really that hot on visitors that late in the day, but Babe figured he could just slip in, make sure Gene was still there, and then leave Gene a book and get out. As soon as he found a book. Babe only had the funny pages, and those worn to illegibility, and a dirty magazine he'd traded from Perconte. Babe sighed and went to hunt down Webster. He always had a couple paperbacks, even if the only way Babe was going to even look at one was to say that it was for the Doc.

It was almost 2000 by the time Babe crept into the infirmary. He made successful puppydog eyes at the night nurse in triage, who told him to just keep it quiet and not stay long. Babe waved the book at her and saluted.

It only occurred to Babe that Gene might be sleeping when he got into the dimly-lit ward. He was, of course, eyes closed. The nurses had washed the mud off his face, and that just made it paler. The dark circles around his eyes looked like bruises in the dim light. His cast lay outside the blankets, dry now, but still smudged with grime.

Babe felt like an idiot for not considering that it was too late for visitors. Well, he could just leave the book, and come back in the morning. He stepped as lightly as he could in jump boots on tiled flooring, and leaned in to set the book down on the side table. Gene's watch was there, but nothing else. Babe felt a ridiculous urge to get some flowers, or something to brighten the place up. It didn't seem right for a man like Gene, who'd laid his life on the line to help every man in the company, day in and day out for months, shouldn't have any presents when he himself was hurt.

In the morning, Babe would ask if Gene wanted anything from his barracks bag, or anything at all, and see if he could rustle it up. As Babe straightened, stiffened by his new resolve, Gene stirred in his sleep. His brow creased again, fine lines of pain spreading across it and adding twenty years to his age. Hadn't they given him anything for the pain here? Babe had thought that safe behind the lines, he wouldn't have to worry about medication shortages or using sheets for bandages again. Or was Gene enduring a nightmare, like they all had, each man in the company seemingly having part of his mind still in the snowy foxhole above Foy. Either way, there didn't seem to be much that Babe could do about it, short of taking Gene in his arms and trying to kiss it all better, which wasn't that likely to help, no matter what Babe's fantasies liked to tell him.

Babe crept back out to the main desk. He thought about asking the nurse to give Gene another shot of something, but suspected she wouldn't until whatever time the docs set. He didn't want to admit that he'd been spying on Gene while he was sleeping anyway. It seemed strange, now that he thought of it, and a little intrusive. He suspected that someone as closed and private as Gene wouldn't like it. Babe had spent too much time thinking about what Gene might like.

He sighed and tramped back to the barracks, telling himself that he needed to get over this crush before he embarrassed himself, or worse, made Gene not want to be his friend anymore. If they even still were friends now that they were off the line.

* * *

The major gave everyone in the company two days of light duties, by which he meant show up for roll call and meals, and don't get arrested by the MPs for anything he didn't want to hear about. Babe had always thought that Winters was a good man, and this only confirmed it.

Babe bolted his way through chow and went back to the infirmary as soon as he could.

"Where've you been?" Gene hissed when he saw Babe, which knocked Babe back a step. The book was apparently unmoved on the bedside table, which was still mostly empty. Gene was half sitting up, propped on some pillows, his good arm pulled in across his chest like he was protecting broken ribs.

Babe held up his hands like he had a rifle on him, and said, "Jeez, Doc, it's good to see you too."

Seeming to realize that his tone had been uncalled for, Gene hunched a little in the bed, and muttered, "You said you'd come."

"And here I am," Babe pointed out. "I dropped you that last night, but you was sleeping already."

"Oh," Gene glanced down at his cast, and shivered. "Thought that was Webster. Has his name in it."

"Yeah, right." Babe hooked a leg of the chair with his boot and yanked it over, then spun it around to sit on backwards. It was all one neat, smooth motion, just like they were in a diner or something back home. "I lifted it for you."

"Oh," Gene said again, and Babe wasn't sure why he was so taken aback. "Thank you, Heffron."

Babe nodded awkwardly. "No trouble. Listen, I got the day off: anything you want? I can make a PX run for you, or get something out of your kit: smokes, more books, deck of cards?" He stopped short of offering his pornography. He wasn't sure if Gene liked that kind of thing, and besides a guy could catch hell from the nurses for having the stuff. They always seemed to find it too. He wondered if they trained nurses at priory schools with the nuns.

"I'm all right," Gene said, voice soft, and Babe could hear the hesitance in it.

"You sure?" Babe pressed, thinking it was like his gran, where you had to argue with her over her tea three times before she'd agree to just a cup in the hand, and only if it wasn't any trouble and Babe's ma was making it already. Comparing Gene Roe to his Irish grandmother was enough to make Babe smile and Gene eyed him with suspicion.

"Would you stay a bit?" Gene asked, then ducked his head. "If you like."

"Sure I like," Babe responded immediately, "not like there's much else to do in this joint." Though he knew for a fact that there were two craps games going already, and someone said there'd be an afternoon movie, maybe even a new one they hadn't all seen . He wondered if he could spring a wheelchair and take Gene out to it, like they were walking out or something. He folded his arms across the back of the chair and rested his chin on them. "So, tell me, Doc. How's the hospital treating you?"

Gene shrugged slightly. "Okay, I guess," he said, sounding like he'd had enthusiasm drained out of him like blood. He lapsed into silence again, and Babe had to pinch his lips together to keep from sighing or rolling his eyes. It was all well and good to ask a fellow to stay and keep you company, but you ought to be responsible for at least a third of the conversation if you did.

Babe tried to think of something interesting that might’ve happened in the last twenty-four hours, but other than finding their gear looted, nothing especially had. The guys were all as fine as they ever were, and the officers were holed up doing endless piles of paperwork, or drinking endless bottles of scotch, depending. Nothing new there.

"Hey, they redid all the showers while we was gone," Babe said, not having found anything more interesting in his scrub through his memory. "They've got hot water now and everything. It's almost like being back at Benning, 'cept the food's still powdered eggs."

Gene frowned, a tight, bitter twist of his lips. "Guess I'll get to try them once I get this off," he said, lifting his cast a quarter inch off the blankets.

"Yeah, I guess," Babe agreed. He hadn't thought of that, but of course Gene wouldn't be able to pour water over his plaster cast. "Well, that's all right, isn't it? Gives you an excuse to ask the nurses for a sponge bath." Babe had never had the pleasure of a sponge bath from a nurse, but he'd heard good things about them. The one compensation for getting hit, several of the guys had said. Depends on the nurse, several more had replied.

"Suppose it does." Gene rubbed his good hand over his eyes then back through his hair, making it stand at a hundred odd angles with the stiffness only months of army grime and helmets could bestow. He sighed heavily.

Babe's ma had often told him that he wasn't as fast on the uptake as he could be, but it was hard for even him to miss that Gene was not a happy man. He almost asked, "What, you don't like nurses?" but that was just a little too close to, "Do you like girls?" to ask in an open ward, especially if Babe wasn't angling to get tossed out on his ear by a man with one working arm. "Everything okay, Doc?" he asked instead.

Gene sighed again, and looked up at Babe, then back down at his cast. "Just don't like being fussed over, is all."

"Aw come on," Babe said, in what he hoped was a bracing Wild Bill Guarnere voice, "You're a hero. Live it up a little, huh?"

That turned out to be exactly the wrong thing to say. Gene flushed scarlet and looked away sharply. His hand balled into such a tight fist that he winced in pain. "Quit it, Heffron. All I did was fall on my face in the mud. Got my purple heart tripping on barbed wire. I'm— You don't oughta go around saying things like that."

"Yeah, well," Babe said, then fell silent, hugging the back of the chair. He considered how far he'd get by telling Gene that he was a hero to Babe, and probably to every man in Easy who'd yelled "Medic!" and found Gene at his side, a hail of bullets or no. Given Gene's current round of self-pity, Babe let it drop. Instead, he lowered his voice into his best persuasive tone, and said, "You been on the line with us for two months, Gene. There ain't a man in the company who don't deserve to get fussed over, just a little."

Gene actually pouted, his lips jutting out as his chin dipped to his chest. He looked up at Babe through those stubby black eyelashes and said, "I don't like it, is all."

"Okay, okay," Babe said, giving up on that line of attack. "So you gonna just sit there covered in mud until you get that cast off?"

"Thought I might try wash myself, like Major Winters, but..." Gene sighed. "But I ain't made friends with the ward nurse, and she, well, I guess she thinks I'll dump water on the floor, or get my cast wet. Might be she's mad at me for trying to sneak out again."

It took Babe a second to catch the last word and realized that this was not Gene's foiled attempt from the day before, but another bid for freedom. "Jesus, Gene, where the fuck did you think you were going to go!"

Gene growled like a cornered mutt, a mix of anger, frustration and pain boiling up to his normally implacable surface. Babe had known he'd hated it in the hospital, but he hadn't counted on how much. He flinched back before he could help himself, but Gene still snapped, "Tired of being filthy. I ain't a pig, and I'm sick of living like one."

Babe grimaced. He could guess that telling Gene to just take his sponge bath like a man wouldn't get him anywhere. Anyway, he could sympathize with the unfairness of it. They'd all been looking forward to cleaning up, and the real hot water that the barracks showers provided. The march through the showers in Haguenau had felt like heaven at the time, but that had been weeks ago, and only a minute of tepid water per man.

"What's all this noise?" The Queens nurse was back, looking even less impressed than the last time Babe had seen her, apparently before Gene had danced all over her last nerve. "Private, if you're going to rile my patient, you can find something else to do before I hide you."

Babe hopped to his feet and held his hands up in surrender for the second time that morning. "Sounds like he riles himself just fine, Lieutenant. I ain't done nothing but say hello." Babe didn't look at Gene, but the annoyed huff didn't need an expression of betrayal to back it up.

The nurse snorted, and the corner of her mouth twitched up, and Babe smiled back. "Still, Technician Roe needs his rest. You can come back later."

"All right, Ma'am." Babe turned to Gene, who had looked away. He looked paler than usual, and Babe felt a clench of guilt in his stomach, but carried on, "I'll see you around, Doc."

"Sure," was the muttered response.

Babe bumped into Spina at the front desk, almost making him drop a package of chocolate bars, and said, "Good luck. He's sulking, and the nurse is pissed."

Spina rolled his eyes and carried on in. That was good. Babe hated leaving Gene by himself when he was in a funk. Now that they all had the day off, Gene would probably get a pretty steady stream of well wishers and hopefully candy. Babe should’ve thought to bring candy. Gene had found chocolate for Babe in the middle of a siege, and Babe couldn't even go to the PX for Gene.

Instead, he found Martin and told him he was going for a walk. Martin made a face like that pretty well confirmed that Babe was stupid, like he'd suspected all along, and told him to be back by lunch if he didn't want another round of KP. Babe had to wonder if the Martin and the Queens ward nurse had met. It was too bad Martin was married.

Babe was a city boy born and bred, and before signing up hadn't spent more than an afternoon in the countryside in his whole life. Natural woodsmen like Shifty Powers could still run rings around him and Babe wouldn't even see them, but a year of training in rural Georgia and the Carolinas, and two campaigns in the woods had given Babe a better feel for a world not made of asphalt and cement.

The rain had let up, or at least subsided to an aggressive drizzle, and Babe only had to walk away from the camp for ten minutes before a cow path turned off the main road and led down to a creek. Babe had seen it on marches when they'd been quartered there in the fall, had thought it would be a good place to swim in the summer, cow shit or not. Now, he picked his way down the muddy path, jump boots skidding. He hit an especially slick path, pin-wheeled, and skied down the last few yards to the edge of the creek. Only a lean little tree at the water's edge kept Babe from plunging face first into the freezing pond.

"Stupid," Babe muttered, thinking of Gene's initial comment on breaking his wrist. A fat lot of good it'd do Gene if he drowned in a creek, or came down with the flu. He and Gene could get beds next to each other. Except with the flu, Babe'd probably end up in the contagion ward.

Catching his breath, Gene looked up and down the bank. It looked a lot like the little brooks they'd camped near in Belgium, and before that in England. There were little mossy hills all up and down the sides of the bank, and, as Babe approached, he could make out little splashes of color poking out of them: the very first spring flowers, just showing their heads to the frigid air in purple and white. Feeling clumsy and huge, Babe bent and tugged at the fragile stems. He had some notion that he should be wrapping them in ribbon, but he had no idea what he could use for that. He didn't think that wrapping the first spring flowers in a bootlace would go over as intended.

When he had a dozen or so, Babe put the tiny flowers in his breast pocket, and slogged back up the slope, hauling in deep breaths of the fresh winter air. He could smell manure and coal smoke, but mostly just snow and ice, the fresh running water of the stream.

Babe thought about sitting next to Gene in an icy OP, sharing what little warmth they could and looking out over the snow. It'd felt like a little bubble of away from the world, then. He'd thought, for a dizzy moment, as if he could lean over and just touch his lips to Gene's, and that Gene would understand him perfectly.

It'd been so different, that fantasy of snow, than the furtive eye-contact with men in the latrine or in the back row at the pictures. Not that Babe had ever minded those kinds of encounters, and frankly would normally have been thinking of heading into Riems to find something in that line. He should. He should go into town and find someone to screw around with, and forget all about Gene, his shock of dark hair that Babe could lose a hand in, the little lines around the corner of his eyes, and how they moved when he smiled. None of that was ever going to be Babe's.

Babe patted his pocket gently and started back down the road towards camp.

After chow, Babe bartered Perconte a pack of smokes for some olive drab ribbon, and made up two posies out of the purple and white flowers. They were ragged, uneven things, and being in his pocket had bruised them a little, but Babe figured he might get points for the obvious sincerity of his effort, no matter how clumsy the result.

The first bouquet Babe gave to the ward nurse, who looked him up and down like she suspected a trap, then took them grudgingly. Babe supposed that trying to pick up army nurses was a pretty regular practice for the guys. He knew Bill had always taken an interest. Poor Bill. He was probably getting more than his share of nurses now.

Babe smiled at the nurse.

"I ain't going on a date with ya," she said, lifting the flowers to her nose. They didn't smell like anything; Babe'd already tried that.

"I ain't asking you to, Ma'am," Babe said.

"Then whatdya want, Private?"

"My friends call me Babe." She didn't look too impressed by that as an opening, but she wasn't scowling either, and it gave Babe a chance to ask for what he wanted. He was pretty sure that nuns and army nurses came from the same general stock, and could be buttered up with the same general approach.

Malarkey was just on his way out when Babe went back into the main ward, and Babe was pleased to see that there were now two magazines, three comic books, another novel, a deck of cards, and a considerable collection of candy on Gene's side table. He should have known the guys wouldn't let Gene down.

"You're back," Gene said, still a touch frosty. Babe thought of the triage nurse the day before saying just that in more or less the same tone, and couldn't help laughing. It didn't look like it did much to improve Gene's mood.

"Hey, come on," Babe kicked the chair so it was closer to the bed and sat the steaming washbasin down on it. "That anyway to talk to the man who just brought you your heart's desire."

Gene glanced around, but didn't find the ward nurse, who'd handed Babe the basin and told him he was mopping up the inevitable disaster. His lips parted in surprise. "For me?"

"For you," Babe confirmed. "All that, and some flowers too." He pulled the second posy out of his pocket and stuck it in an aftershave bottle. It looked even more battered than the first one, forlorn amid Gene's growing pile of offerings. "Brighten the place up some."

There were no runners or privacy curtains in the ward. Babe had seen some screens on stands at one point, but had no idea where. It didn't really matter anyway, it wasn't like Gene had anything every guy in the company hadn't seen, and whatever they'd all seen, the nurses had seen worse. Still, he said, "Want me to hold a sheet up or something?"

Gene was already unbuttoning his pajama tops, employing an awkward, one-handed flick of his thumb to get the buttons free. "No, that's all right." He looked up at Babe and smiled. "Hey, thanks."

"You just gotta know how to talk to nurses," Babe said, "it's an art, like dodging out on assembly by lining up for confession."

Gene snorted. "Take your word for it," he said. He already had a technique worked out where he could get his shirt off by holding onto his collar with his teeth. Babe was impressed by the ingenuity, if not the efficiency, of the whole operation. With his shirt off, and the blankets pushed down to his waist, Gene started to mop at his chest. He was being careful to keep his cast lifted up and away from the water, but it still kept dripping out of the cloth and getting the blankets wet. Gene's left-handed go at wringing it out hadn't gotten him anywhere.

"You want a hand with that?" Babe asked. As friendly as he could get, it felt weird to just stand here and watch another man bathe.

"No, I got it," Gene grumbled, but the cloth slipped out of his hold as he tried to reach behind his shoulder to get the back of his neck. It fell to the bed behind Gene, who snarled in frustration. "You could do my back," he admitted, sullen again. "If it ain't too much bother."

"I don't got nothing to do all day," Babe said. He circled the chair with the basin on it and perched one hip on the edge of the cot. Picking up the cloth, he rinsed it and wrung it out before applying more soap and starting to rub Gene's back. Gene was hunched forward, his good leg drawn up to his chest and his body lying along the line of his thigh, giving Babe a broad expanse of pale skin. He had a mole on his left shoulder that Babe had never noticed before. He was too thin, but they all were.

Babe stroked gently, moving the cloth in slow circles across the back of Gene's shoulders, more to soak off the dirt than to scrub it clean. Gene had bruises from his pack straps, and skin across his back and sides was darkened or rubbed raw from other injuries Babe couldn't identify. Babe didn't want to accidentally hurt him worse and went as carefully as he could. Even that gentle motion raised sheets of grim and dead skin, and Babe had to rinse the cloth before he'd gotten very far. The water was already starting to tinge gray.

"That's nice," Gene said, sounding almost sleepy. As Babe rubbed up and down the line of his backbone, Gene's head dropped forward onto his raised knee. His back curved under Babe's touch. Babe couldn't help the possessive glow that filled him that he was allowed to touch that smooth, vulnerable skin, and how much trust Gene was showing, especially after being so adamant about not wanting the nurses to do this.

As Babe worked the cloth over Gene's back, he wondered if it was some kind of sexual hang up. Did Gene not want to be touched by a woman, no matter how professional? If that were the case, Babe didn't imagine that he'd be too hot on Babe doing this if Gene knew the thoughts Babe sometimes had. Thoughts that he was having right now.

"Say," Babe said, wanting to drag his mind away from that trail before the whole thing ended up turning him on. Problem was, he couldn't think of anything to say after that, which only made it worse than if he'd kept his trap shut.

"Where'd you get flowers this early?" Gene asked, saving him.

So Babe told him about his adventure down to the creek, and if he was no Luz when it came to spinning a yarn, he was better at it than Bill. By the time he was done with his near death in the stream, followed by his near death by ward nurse, he was also done washing Gene's back, too. "You want I should wash your ass, too?" Babe asked, making a joke of it before it started to build as a possibility.

He didn't expect Gene to reply like he did. He paused, like he really was considering the question, then said, "No, no. I believe that I can manage that." Another pause as Babe rinsed the cloth and wrung it out before holding it out to Gene. "Can you do my arm, though?" he asked, sounding almost timid, and Babe was afraid that he was letting tension build up between them again.

"‘Course," Babe said. He took Gene's hand to steady his arm, their fingers curling together like interlocked questions marks. Babe didn't know why he always expected Gene to have soft hands, when he was just as much a soldier as the rest of them. It seemed like when he dreamed, it was of Gene touching him like those boys from uptown cruising for trade. Every time Babe actually felt Gene's hands on him, he got a little jolt: of reality settling in, or the electricity of plain old lust, Babe was never sure. He set his mouth and focused on running the cloth over Gene's shoulder and down his arm, watching as drops of water ran down the contours of the muscles, flowing towards their hands, or dripping off Gene's elbow onto the knee of Babe's trousers. When Babe got to the tender skin on the inside of Gene's wrist, showing a ring of grime exactly where his watch had sat, Gene's fingers tightened against Babe's making Babe glance up.

Their eyes met, and Gene's hand twisted against Babe's, so that they were resting palm to palm, clasped like lovers, right there for the whole ward to see. Babe felt himself stop breathing, but he couldn't seem to start up again; it was like a weight was resting on his chest, knocking all the breath out of him. He didn't know what to do, so he did nothing, just waited for whatever Gene was going to say, while at the same time Gene stared at him in a mirror of the stunned amazement that Babe felt.

Babe watched as Gene's tongue flicked out, pink and wet against chapped lips. His skin had paled, making his freckles stand out and his eyes seem darker. Or maybe his eyes had gotten darker. It was Babe glancing down at Gene's crotch that broke their stare, but he couldn't make anything out under the rumpled blankets.

"Babe," Gene said, voice rough like he hadn't had water in days.

"Yeah," Babe answered, because he didn't know what to say. He felt like he'd stepped on what he'd thought was solid ground and found himself in a German foxhole instead. Or maybe that he was still falling, and he didn't know if he'd land in a snowdrift or on the cold reality of cement.

"We"—Gene licked his lips again—Sweet Jesus, his mouth, just looking at it was making Babe hard now—and cleared his throat—"can't be doing this."

"Dammit, I know that." Christ did Babe know. They were practically in public, for fuck's sake. He didn't even know what, exactly, they were doing, but whatever it was, they should stop it right then. He couldn't seem to let go of Gene's hand.

The door to the nurse's office opened. Gene yanked his hand back. Babe dropped the cloth on the floor, and it hit with a splat.

Gene tried to fold his arms around himself, but it didn't really work with the heavy plaster cast, and he ended up curling back around the one raised knee. He looked down at the ragged edge of bandage poking out from under the plaster. He couldn't seem to look at Babe.

Babe bent and picked up the wash cloth, putting it back in the basin. The water was tepid and gray now. He should take it and dump it out, or ask one of the orderlies to do it, get Gene something fresh and clean. Only, he couldn't leave without knowing.

The nurse passed them by without comment, and Babe felt like he could breathe again. He leaned, in having to balance one hand on the edge of the cot, more aware than he'd ever been in his life that his fingers were less than an inch away from Gene's ass. "We can't be doing this?" he asked, praying above all else that now they were _finally_ speaking the same language, that if they were falling, at least it would be together. Maybe between the two of them, one would have a reserve chute.

Gene glanced around the ward. There were only a couple of men, and both of them half a dozen beds away. The 101st didn't seem to have been back long enough to have gotten into any kind of serious trouble.

"Babe," Gene said again, and Babe knew he was stalling, trying to stitch his shredded thoughts together, but he liked hearing his name the way only Gene said it too much to protest the wait. "I ain't never—" Gene started, then abandoned that line. "We can't talk here. You _know_ that."

Babe sighed. "I already said that," he said, the whole broken conversation was making him tired. He wished he'd asked how long Gene thought he'd be laid up. It would be hard to do now without seeming like he was only thinking about when he could get a fuck in. He couldn't work out what to say, so he picked up the basin and took it to the sinks to empty and refill.

He promised himself as he did that the miracle of hot running water was not one that he'd ever take for granted again. Wherever he lived after the war, it was going to have hot water and a toilet inside. He let the water run over his hands, the warmth flushing through his whole body, and thought for a dizzying, unreal moment, that he and Gene might live together, after.

Babe grimaced. Here he was, unable to work out how to talk to the man, and he was already daydreaming about being Mrs. Eugene Roe. Like that was going to happen.

When he brought the basin back, Gene had wrapped himself in his blankets but was still shivering slightly. Babe stole another from the adjacent bed, and wrapped it gingerly around Gene's shoulders. Babe was careful not to touch skin on skin this time, and Gene didn't look up until he was done.

"Thank you," Gene said simply, and Babe felt his heart lift like Ike had personally given him a Silver Star.

He knew he should probably go, before one of them said something stupid, or worse, did something incriminating, but Babe felt like he couldn't last another minute. "Do you want to talk about it later?" he asked, and when Gene either didn't understand or pretended not to, clarified, "I'm just wondering, 'cause there's talking about something later, then there's saying you're going to when what you mean is you don't want to talk about it at all." A better man would have added that he'd respect whatever Gene wanted to do, but he was a selfish son of a bitch at heart, and he didn't want to give Gene too much of a way out in case he decided to take it. Or worse, that he gave Gene the impression that Babe wanted Gene to take the out.

"I want to talk about it later," Gene told him, he sounded serious, and Babe knew that he couldn't count on that conversation ending like he wanted, but he also couldn't tell his heart to stop beating double time at the barest possibility that Gene might say yes. Gene just might, if all the stars aligned and Babe was a lot luckier than he'd ever been in his life, want Babe back.

"Okay," Babe said. He was grinning so hard his face hurt, but he couldn't make himself stop. Gene looked up at him, saw that smile, and opened his mouth to say something, before dropping his head back to his knee to hide a grin. It didn't work. Babe could see the way his eyes crinkled even with his face half hidden. Babe gestured at the water and asked, "Do you want me too..."

Gene shook his head. "I'll manage," he said, and his voice was the warmest thing in France right then.

"Leave you to it, then," Babe said and started to turn away.

Before he was past the first bed, Gene said just loud enough for him to hear, "Thank you for the flowers, Babe."

Babe thought that not literally skipping out of the ward was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done.

* * *

He kept thinking that, until he asked Spina, and found out that Gene was going to be stuck in the infirmary with his sprained ankle for at least another four days, until he could limp around with just a cane.

"It's the broken wrist that's the bastard," Spina explained. "Can't use crutches. Not that they'd do him much good in this muck."

"Right," Babe said, and considered another four days of being able to visit Gene and knowing that he might be able to have everything he wanted, or he might not, and not really being able to ask. Then he felt like a heel for thinking that was the worst part of Gene being laid up in the infirmary with two separate injuries while Babe still didn't have a scratch on him. "I think he's kinda lonesome, ya know?"

"I know he's not getting along with the nurses," Spina said, but Babe could tell he took the hint. He was pretty sure most of the Toccoa guys and the Bastogne vets too would continue to be in and out of that ward so much that the nurses would find a way to get rid of Gene just to stop the flood. And Gene would hardly have a chance to think about all the reasons agreeing to what Babe wanted was a bad idea.

Which was fine, because Babe was doing that enough for both of them. The problem was that Babe didn't just want a quick fuck and done. He wanted flowers and poems and tender kisses in the moonlight and all that poetry bullshit. Jesus, he hadn't felt like this since he was a high school junior, and he'd had the sense to keep it to himself then.

Babe's ma had never called him the bright one in the family.

One awkward visit chaperoned by Martin and Randleman later, and Babe decided that he wasn't going to last four days. He wasn't going to last twelve hours.

The next morning, before dawn, he talked the ward nurse into lending him a wheelchair and rolled it into the non-contagion ward just as Gene was finishing a breakfast of re-hydrated everything.

"What's all this?" Gene asked, and Babe didn't think he was too much of an optimist to read hope in his expression, though that could just be a hope of getting out of the damn ward.

"We're going to mass," Babe explained.

"I'm Methodist."

"Yeah, well, the nurses don't know that, do they?" Babe parked the wheelchair next to Gene's bed and poked at it until he worked out the brakes .

"I imagine it's in my file," Gene said mildly, but he put his breakfast tray on his pillow and shifted one-handed over to the wheelchair with the dexterity of a man who'd been long-planning his escape.

"I'll say you're thinking of converting to the True Faith," Babe told him, and piled blankets over Gene's lap and around his shoulders.

"Think they'd believe that?" Gene asked.

"I think they'd believe anything that'd get you outta their hair for an hour." Babe started pushing the chair towards the door. The barn-like hall that got used as a chapel, a movie theater, and a briefing room, depending on the day, was next to the infirmary, and despite what Babe had told the nurses, Wednesday mass didn't start for half an hour.

Major Winters'd had the replacements throwing down gravel on the worst of the muddy paths for a couple days now, and the roll between buildings wasn't too bad. Then they had a whole echoing hall to themselves. Babe rolled Gene over to the corner farthest from the door and turned him so he could see if anyone was coming in. Chairs were set up in rows, but the altar was still jammed in a corner out of the way. Father Maloney would set that up when he came in. They had about twenty minutes.

Gene shot Babe a look when he realized no one was there yet. "Usually Methodist services have people in them," he commented.

"Catholics do too." Babe wasn't sure why he was defending a mass that he rarely attended anyway. He let go of Gene's chair and circled to crouch in front of it. He wanted to put his hands on Gene's knees, but let them rest on his own instead. "You said we should talk later. I'm sorry, Gene, but I can't wait no more."

"So you skipped us out of assembly by lining up for confession," Gene said, eyes crinkling.

"Didn't know you were listening."

Gene reached out and put his hand on Babe's shoulder. It was too cold, chill even through Babe's winter uniform, and he wanted to warm it between his own, or at least give Gene his gloves, but he didn't yet dare. "I always listen to you, Babe," Gene told him. "Even when you're not saying anything right out loud."

"Then you know what I want?" Babe asked, almost pleading. He couldn't help it, though, especially not when Gene nodded in reply. "And...?"

It wasn't fair to press Gene like this. He should wait, at least until Gene was better, if not until the other man made the first move. Babe balled his hands into fists and looked down at them so he didn't have to watch the indecision flicker across Gene's face for another goddamn second.

"I been thinking about it," Gene said slowly, like he was still doing just that, and he hadn't made up his mind yet. Did he know how even just the feel of his trembling hand on Babe's shoulder was driving Babe mad? "We shouldn't. I know that, not just what the law is, or what's right, but the danger. We shouldn't."

Babe swallowed, wishing he could pack away the hurt like he had for every other awful thing that happened during the war. He would, eventually, he knew. He'd go back to the barracks and sulk for a couple days, and at some point he'd get over wanting something he'd always known he couldn't have anyway. Christ, if it didn't hurt now though.

"Aw, no, don't look like that," Gene said. He squeezed Babe's shoulder, and when Babe still wouldn't look up, Gene cupped the side of his face with his hand. "I ain't never done this before. I don't know how it goes."

Babe snorted, embarrassed by how his nose was wet with blinked back tears. "Well, Gene, usually if you want to let a guy down easy, you say 'we shouldn't,' and then you don't start petting him. It's confusing."

"And if I want to hang onto a fellow?" Gene asked.

Babe looked up sharply and found the same dark intensity in Gene's eyes as they'd shared when they'd been holding hands. Shouldn't didn't matter in the face of that look. Nothing mattered except the feel of Gene's cool, rough hand on Babe's cheek. Babe cleared his throat and said, "If you want to hang onto a fellow, you just keep petting him, and don't say anything at all."

"That it?" Gene asked. His thumb drifted up Babe's cheek at the same time as his fingers spread out over his neck.

"Pretty well," Babe said, hypnotized by the feel of his heartbeat against Gene's fingertips. He knew they only had a few more minutes, but this might be the last chance to have Gene alone in who knew how long. Babe braced his hands on the arms of Gene's wheelchair and leaned in, stopping with his lips just a fraction of an inch from Gene's.

"We shouldn't," Gene said again, apparently unable to keep his trap shut. Only, he proved that a lie when he leaned in that last breath, and pressed closed lips against Babe's parted ones. His lips tasted like re-hydrated army food, but they were warm and soft against Babe's, and Babe had wanted this so badly for so long that he couldn't help whimpering at even the barest brush of a kiss. Gene opened his mouth just enough for their lips to meet properly, then pulled back again. "There's something to that," he said.

"Yeah?" Babe asked. Again, he felt like he should say something to forgive Gene if he didn't want to go on with this. Again Babe kept his trap shut and waited Gene out, like Shifty said a hunter did. Babe didn't see how anyone could be a hunter when he was lying down with his throat exposed, waiting to see if someone wanted to rip it out or let him live.

Let him live, it seemed. "Yeah," Gene said, and with more conviction this time. He leaned back in and kissed Babe's cheek, then rested their foreheads together. "The other thing I've been thinking," Gene told him, breath caressing Babe's lips with every word, "is that it don't matter if we do or not. I'll feel the same about you either way."

"So will I," Babe told him, and hoped to God they both meant the same thing. He didn't see how they could not, but that didn't stop the doubt clawing at his stomach. "Gene, I'll never feel different, no matter what."

"Kind of promise it's dangerous to make," Gene observed. This thumb was still stroking Babe's cheek. It hadn't stopped even for a second, even when they were kissing.

"More dangerous than jumping out of airplanes?" Babe asked.

Gene's face was blurred by proximity, but that was okay, now Babe could feel him smiling from the way his brow moved and his breath caught. "Maybe," Gene said. "Guess I jump out of airplanes too."

"With me?" Babe asked, though they'd never been in the same stick, and hopefully never would be. Babe didn't think he could bear that. Though he didn't know how he'd stand not knowing how Gene was doing either.

"With you," Gene confirmed. "I'll even bring a parachute."

Babe laughed. "One of us should." More seriously, he added, "We'll be so careful. I promise. It's just a few more months, until the Germans pack it in."

"Okay," Gene answered, "Okay," and Babe knew he was agreeing to everything.

The door rattled, and they drew apart. Babe stood, trying to work out if they looked guilty or not. He didn't think so.

Father Maloney came in, arms bundled with the sacraments. "You boys here for mass?"

"Dammit, Heffron," Gene muttered.

"Uh, yes, Father," Babe said. "We're a bit early."

"Never seen you here before, Doc," Maloney observed. He had the folded altar cloth over one arm while swinging the basket containing the wine and host with the other.

"Ya need help with all that?" Babe asked before Gene could snarl at either of them. It didn't matter if Gene was sore at him about having to sit through mass. Babe would sit though a thousand masses for Gene's implied promise.

As Babe helped haul the altar into place and other men began to file in, he cast a sideways glance at Gene. He was still sitting in the farthest corner, good arm tight across his chest while his cast rested in his lap. His mouth was turned down, but Babe could see from the lines around his eyes that Gene didn't mean it. Babe smiled back, a quick flash of his teeth, just managing to hold in a laugh at how ridiculous they were.

Maloney started to pray, and Babe took a seat and turned his attention forward. It didn't seem like he even needed to look at Gene anymore, not with the promises they'd made. Babe could feel Gene from just the glow in his heart. It was enough. It was more than he'd ever thought he'd have.

This time Babe did laugh, drawing the eyes of every man in the room, but he didn't care.


End file.
